


Made White in the Blood of the Lamb

by Eridanie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actually Not as Bad as Canon Violence, After the Fall, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Co-Sleeping, Codependency, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Dreams, Escape, Eternal Burn, Excessive Psychology Terminology, Eye Sex, Flashbacks, Hannibal Loves Metaphors, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal to the Rescue, Homoeroticism, I Don't Actually Have A Gift For Murder Choreography, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Mentions of would be Murder family, Murder, Murder Family, Murder Family 2.0, Murder Husbands, Not Beta Read, POV Hannibal, POV Will Graham, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Psychology, Road Trips, Sailing, Scar Stroking, Scars, Season Finale, Seriously It Burns So Much, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Toddler Adoption/Kidnapping, Vigilantism, Way Romanticized Codependent Relationship, mac & cheese, murder honeymoon, psychiatry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridanie/pseuds/Eridanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will was reborn to beauty, dripping in blood and gore, and blinking shocked into their new world. They would make it into their own grand design together. The perfect collaboration he had waited a lifetime to see manifest. He reached out to Will, clasping his hand and drawing him near, supporting as he took his first steps. They were close, sharing the same air, gasping in their first breaths together. Will gazed into his eyes and he knew that he felt it. He could see it laid bare there in his eyes, eyes that shined like obsidian in the moonlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crowd Surf Off A Cliff

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off right where the finale ends. I know I am way late to the party with this, but I'm a slow processor. 
> 
> Not beta read, so sorry in advance, I have problems with punctuation and who knows what else.
> 
> I struggled a lot with naming this because everything I liked was either already a fic written on AO3, or just didn't fit right with this story. Finally out of desperation I turned to the show's naming scheme for inspiration and read Revelations. I basically read up till the quote about the "Wrath of the Lamb" and kept reading until I found another passably interesting quote involving the lamb, but I actually think it fits pretty well.
> 
> The chapter titles are all from the song Crowd Surf Off A Cliff by Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton.

 

 _“Oh, the skies tumbling from your eyes_  
So sublime, the chase to end all time  
Seasons call and fall, from grace and uniform  
Anatomical, metaphysical.”

_{“It really does look black in the moonlight.”_

_“See. This is all I ever wanted for you Will. For both of us.”_

_“It’s beautiful.”}_

  
“Oh, the dye  
A blood red setting sun  
Rushing through my veins  
Burning up my skin.  
  
I will survive, live and thrive  
Win this deadly game  
Love crime, love crime  
I will survive, live and thrive  
I will survive, I will survive  
I will”

  

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Will, fierce and wild, killing with him, for him, covered in blood under the moonlight. They had finally peeled back their masks, revealing themselves fully to each other. Hannibal felt proud. So proud that Will could finally _see_ him. So proud of what he saw in Will. Together they were surely the most spectacularly beautiful thing under the stars.

 This had seemed to take an eternity to become manifest, like the slow dripping of water and minerals, but now they were like a deep crystalline cave, ancient and vast and hidden, too pure to ever be seen by any other eyes. He had never felt so alive before. In triumph all his frailties and injuries seemed to fade away. He felt only a swelling surge of the rightness that they were reborn together. Now they could start again from their very beginning, without time or distance to separate their existence. They were reborn into a world of their own making, alone together forever.

 Will was reborn to beauty, dripping in blood and gore and blinking shocked into their new world. They would make it into their own grand design together. The perfect collaboration he had waited a lifetime to see manifest. He reached out to Will, clasping his hand and drawing him near, supporting as he took his first steps. They were close, sharing the same air, gasping in their first breaths together. Will gazed into his eyes and he knew that he felt it. He could see it laid bare, there in his eyes, eyes that shined like obsidian in the moonlight. That he could see the truth of him, the truth of them. Will drew near grasping out for contact with his souls twin, his fingers curled into the soft flesh of his shoulder, possessing him, laying claim. Will pushed closer into him, laying his blood-slicked cheek against the curve of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal pressed back, it felt like they could merge into each other. He could feel blood rushing in his veins, hear it pounding in his ears, his skin tingled with goose bumps as Will’s arm curled around his neck and they began to fall. Will did not let go. He clung to him tightly as they plunged. Time seemed to slow for them. Hannibal had the absurd feeling that this moment would not end. That they would remain suspended, embracing for the rest of time. It was a comforting thought. There was no other single moment he would rather live inside forever than this most perfect one.

 When they crashed into the ocean the force of impact tore them them apart. Before he even had the thought to swim back to the surface he reached out for Will, grasping through water, searching for him. His instinct did not tell him he needed air, it told him he needed Will. He needed him back right now. He would drown without him. He found himself crashing back up through the surface of the ocean, gasping for air, gasping with shock, and cold, and pain. He would have cursed his traitorous body if he did not immediately see Will, his head bobbing less than five feet away. Will swam toward him clutching an arm around his chest, he turned them, swimming for shore. Hannibal kicked trying to help the effort along. He could not take his eyes off of Will. He watched him as he swam doggedly for shore. He was glints of moonlight on dripping water, shadows pregnant with hope and meaning.

 When they reached the shore Will collapsed and rolled onto his back, leaving Hannibal there in the drenched sand. He clenched his eyes tightly shut. He felt the draw of retreating tides against his skin. He knew this feeling would not last. The endorphins raging through him would fade, this perfect high would fade, it would be trampled under the merciless boot of time. He wanted to memorize every detail, every molecule of it. It would become the altar at the center of his mind palace. His most sacred and well-protected core, where his true heart would beat, taking and giving sacrament with holy blood.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cringe*
> 
> I'm afraid this came out a bit too much like an angsty lovesick teenager's melodramatic love letters. But it wasn't my fault! The show finale gave me the angsty feels! So I blame Bryan Fuller and Siouxsie Sioux. Also Hannibal, because he is high as fuck on murder endorphins and Will Graham cuddles so his POV is all melodramatic and stuff. From here on out it's much more plot based.


	2. Rather Give The World Away Than Wake Up Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal takes care of their Psychological and practical needs for escape.

He made his way to Will, who lay where he had washed up on the beach. He was lying on his back, limbs akimbo. He gazed up at the stars, and the fierce, feral, passionate look in his eyes from right before their fall had been replaced with a lost confusion, a kind of hopelessness that made him want to shake him until he came back. He knew this would not prove an effective impulse. He could see that Will was not sure whether he had intended them to die or survive, that he had only wanted to make an irreversible choice, and leave his old life behind with a sharp and abrupt ending that was dramatic and intense, but ultimately way less painful, like the quick rip of a bandage.

Hannibal knew that Will had access to everyone’s motivations but his own. He had seen it in action enough to know that truth. Will didn’t believe in the inelegance of lying, or hiding. He believed in speaking the truth, but he had seen Will’s eyes widen with genuine shock and denial when the true intentions behind his actions were revealed, and knew that Will did not believe these assertions were true, even if they were so blatantly obvious to even the most unskilled of minds. Alana, Jack, even Dr. Chilton could see through his transparent machinations, despite the fact that Will’s brightly sparking mind was capable of one hundred times what the three of them could put together with their best efforts. His intentions, his manipulations, were so obvious that no one as skilled in Psychology and profiling as Will would fail to hide them better than that if they knew them. But it was clear that he did not know them.

Once time had passed to the extent that his past self felt like a different person to him, Hannibal is sure the truth would become obvious to Will, but in the present his own mind lay hidden in shadows. Hannibal had no doubt that this was an early-adopted survival mechanism for Will. Perhaps his capability for manipulating others had frightened Will’s compassionate and moral sensibilities so greatly that he could not function with the full knowledge of it. But Hannibal had the full knowledge of it. That was enough.

After their fall they had washed up on a soft beach, wounds stinging sharply from the salty water but more or less in the same condition they had left the cliff-top in. Will’s clever and sharp perceptual abilities had no doubt picked up on the high probability of this outcome long before the battle had even begun, and Hannibal had to admit how ingenious it was. The trail of blood they were dripping would lead to the cliff. There would be no forensics to say for sure whether or not they had lived. This lack of certainty would cause the FBI to force Jack off the case much sooner than if there had been any obvious signs of their survival.

Now that they had survived, the old panics of conventional morality would creep back into Will’s heart and would fester there until Will would feel the need to tear his own heart out yet again. Hannibal could not let that happen. Not now. Now that they had forgiven each other, now that Hannibal had proven to himself that he could not part with this part of himself no matter how much pain it had caused him, that he could not end him, or cut him out of his life. Now that he had given Will enough time to realize that it was too late for him to re-work his life and change it to the passive, happy, path of normalcy he had so thought he longed for. He had given Will the time, and Will had realized how hollow anything else would feel after having what they’d had. No. Will had made his choice. The right choice, and Hannibal would spare him the pain he would feel before he realized this. So he would have to let him believe. Hannibal would let him believe that he had tried to end it. Believe that Hannibal believed he had tried to end it, and more than that he needed to give Will the chance to truly know that he was in control, that Hannibal would defer to his judgment.

This was completely true of course. Now that Hannibal had achieved his most precious and dear accomplishment, now that he had acquired what he had spent his whole life fighting and killing for, he had reached the end of being controlled by his past, by his instincts. There was nothing he wouldn’t give up to keep what he had now. But Will would not believe this. He would never believe himself a prize so cherished it was worth someone’s world. He couldn’t. Hannibal wanted to go back in time and strangle and eat the heart out of every single person who had contributed to Will’s issues with self esteem, starting with his parents and ending with Jack Crawford, so that Will could see the truth of his value and of what he meant to Hannibal. So that he would know that a moment alone with Will’s true self was worth a whole lifetime to Hannibal. But Hannibal would have to settle for giving him a false motivation for his control over Hannibal, over their future. For now, he would not know of the utter dominion he had over Hannibal. He would simply know that he had the upper hand for now. This was why the first words out of Hannibal’s mouth were a lie.

“Will. You need to promise me you won’t try to take your own life again…please.”

At this point they were in a car he had stolen. He had taken Dolarhyde’s body, and shoved it in the back of his own van, driving north up the coast and pushing it into a deep lagoon. It would be found, but not soon enough. For a time, with Dolarhyde gone it would not be clear who had survived the encounter, they would not know who they were looking for. Even when the car and his body were found it would not lead them in the right direction. There was a small beach house nearby, and he stole a car from the darkened driveway and drove it back to Will.

He lay there exactly as he had left him, face and shoulder stitched up and bandaged, and salty cold limbs shoved into some of Hannibal’s more casual clothes. He wished they’d had time for a shower, and a meal, or even just a short rest. But a cop car would be easily found here, so they had precious little time. He grabbed his emergency duffle from it's hiding place. It contained his medical supplies, some necessary pharmaceuticals, new identification paperwork for them both, along with other necessities. Then he reached for Will’s Hand, pulling him up and guiding him toward the stolen vehicle. Will moved like one carved out and hollowed. His face was expressionless as though his mind had decided to completely check out after their fall. Hannibal would have done anything to get him back. So he said the lie, he agreed to what Will asked of him, and they made their way south in companionable silence. Will had not completely returned to himself yet, but now there were signs that he was willing to. So Hannibal smiled and drank in his presence after so much time apart.


	3. The Life That You Thought Through Is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter from Will's POV

It’s a matter of ego depletion he will tell himself later. It’s all about mental resource allocation. Willpower was a limited resource and he had simply reached the end of his reserve. Orthopedic surgeons often spoke in terms of finite resources. The knee socket had a set number of rotations it could execute before it started breaking down. Obviously an exact number would be hard to calculate but when you’re number was up the knees functionality was only going to go downhill from there.

Will thought perhaps he had that for his self-control. Resistance. Virtue. In one manner or another he had always known what Hannibal wanted. Him. He wanted Will. In as much quantity as he could get. Will felt he had exhibited great restraint for a long time. He had resisted the shelter and paradise of being _seen_ by Hannibal for so long now. But even he had his limits.

The way he would measure time now would be _before the fall_ and _after the fall_.  He had been ready to die. He had launched them over the cliff ready to die in the arms of the man he loved. Resigned to his fate. That was the last of his willpower. He may have survived physically past that point of final resolve, but he was effectively dead. Like a worn knee socket he was past his point of functionality. What remained was nothing but raw need and disability. He had stayed strong until his death. Surely no one could expect him to remain strong after death? So now he followed Hannibal unquestioningly like a lovesick puppy. No concern or thought for how moral or immoral his actions might be. That was a concern for alive Will. The one who had always tried so hard to live in the world. But he was in Hannibal’s world now. He was no longer part of the rest of it. He was Hannibal’s Will. That was all that was left and that was all that he needed.

After they had driven in silence for a while Hannibal had turned to him and said. “Will. You need to promise me you won’t try to take your own life again… please.”

Will gazed back at him, his expression blank, eyes wandering over every little detail of Hannibal’s face before finally settling on his eyes. He wanted to stare into them and let reality fade. It took a moment of concentration to remember what Hannibal had asked him. He turned his face away bowing his head in thought.

“ _There are other means of influence other than violence.”_

Chiyoh had told him that once. At the time he hadn’t been able to imagine another influence that could make an impact on Hannibal when violence was what he respected. What he cared about. But Bedelia had intimated at something else. Love. It took a very twisted kind of relationship for love to be so easily contorted into influence. But will didn’t think anybody was about to argue that they had a healthy relationship. This led him to the realization that he had more power over Hannibal than he could ever have hoped for. It was through this simple fact. Will didn’t care what happened to him anymore, but Hannibal did. He could hold his own life hostage, allowing him to win any power struggle. Oh Hannibal must hate how his love for Will makes him weak. Vulnerable. That Will knows how to manipulate him so effortlessly. He was pulled from his thoughts by a touch from Hannibal, a quiet reminder that he was still waiting for an answer.

“It depends.” Will tried to smile at him but it quickly turned into a wince as his cheek protested sharply.

“Depends on what.” Hannibal replied.

“If I get to choose.”

Although this had been a very ambiguously worded statement, he knew that Hannibal immediately knew what he meant.

He’d sucked in a breath through his teeth and replied “Whatever it takes to keep you with me.”

 


	4. Are We Breathing? Are We Wasting Our Breath?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their road trip south leads them to some unexpected adventures in Florida.

They were making their way south. Hannibal had contacted Chiyoh. She was waiting for them in St. Petersburg Florida with Will’s boat.

 Hannibal had stolen a series of cars, driving south until the gas went too low then stealing another. Keeping to backwoods highways. They relieved themselves on the side of the road.

 When Hannibal had escaped the first time he’d had a lot more options. He could avoid drawing attention because they’d only been looking for him. Not him and the charming blonde who accompanied him. He’d always found it easy to blend into the background when he needed to. A feat made even easier when the foreground was occupied by something so pretty. Of course Will was beyond pretty. He was beautiful, perfect. He could draw attention as well as any regal blonde, with his flashing grey-blue eyes and expression of steely passion; he radiated a raw intimacy that seemed to suck the air right out of the room. Of course it’s likely Hannibal has a bias on the subject of Will Graham. But he knows his love is a widely admired creature.

The problem was Will’s face was certainly plastered all over the news as well, and while Hannibal knew he could blend in well enough on his own. The two of them travelling together while Will’s face was covered with bandages was enough to jog the memory of even the most malleable minds. So they traveled like ghosts. Only allowing themselves to be seen partially obscured, or from a distance. They only ate when he’d found that someone else who must have been on a long road trip before they’d interrupted it, had stocked one of the cars he’d stolen. It turns out you can get to Florida pretty quickly if you can’t make stops. Their latest car ran out of gas just outside St. Petersburg and he left it parked at a Wal-Mart while they headed into town on foot in the dead of night.

 ***

 Will wasn’t sure he could identify any plan or pattern, any design, but he didn’t care. He was numb. He had made his decision; all that was left was to live through the consequences. He enjoyed their frenetic journey even with no knowledge of a destination. He just enjoyed being near Hannibal, drinking him in without the guilt there to steal his pleasure. He hadn’t spoken much since the fall. Hannibal had stitched his face up beautifully but the stitches pulled and stung when he smiled or spoke so he had learned to be quiet, it made him feel contemplative. He felt more present then he ever did when speech was required. Hannibal for his part seemed content with his gestures, touches, and meaningful staring. He seemed to revel in their closeness as well.

 After a couple hours of watching Hannibal strong and silent, striding ahead of him. They entered what looked to be a small trailer park near a swamp. Will himself had grown up in a place a lot like this. It was definitely a good place to stay invisible.

 As they approached the only residence that still had lights on they could hear signs of a domestic disturbance, the sound of a man yelling, some breaking glass. As they neared the window Hannibal ushered him forward putting his hands on his shoulders and looking at the scene before them.

 A large bearded man wearing boxers and a white t-shirt now yellowing at the edges was holding a woman clad in a faded pink nightgown by the throat and he was yelling something at her. It sounded like very slurred Spanish to Will. He punctuated the end of his most recent screamed utterance by slamming her against the wall. Her head rocked back slamming into the fake wood paneled walls behind her. When her head made contact with a sickeningly loud thump she dropped to the ground, body limp, and limbs spread awkwardly akimbo. Will had seen enough, he rushed to the door, and it was unlocked so he slammed it open. The man was so drunk he seemed incapable of being surprised. The best he could muster was confusion.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

 


	5. Everywhere and Every Way I See You With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stop off for some murder and domestic cuteness, but an unexpected surprise waits for them.

Will had seen enough, he rushed to the door, and it was unlocked so he slammed it open. The man was so drunk he seemed incapable of being surprised. The best he could muster was confusion.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Will didn’t respond, just moved in closer to the man all his muscles tense with rage at what he had just witnessed.

Hannibal moved quickly to the woman on the floor, checking her pulse before turning back to Will.

“She’s alive though she likely has a concussion.” He told Will.

Then Hannibal moved back in behind Will answering the man for him. “Who we are is not as important as why we are here, or what we will do.”

The man snorted at this but raised his hands as though this sentence lead him to believe they were police of some sort. In a moment he was probably going to regret that they weren’t.

Will turned back to Hannibal and held out his hand. Hannibal reached into his coat pocket and drew out a thick hunting knife and another more refined blade. He stepped closer to Will and put the hunting knife carefully into his hands. He leaned in further, whispering into Will’s ear.

“Shall we slay another dragon together Will?”

It was hardly a question he needed to ask but Will supposed he was trying his best to remain true to his promise to give will the power of choice. 

Will smiled at him, his eyes glassy with a rapturous fury that seemed to pull Hannibal closer, his hands reaching out in a chaste yet monstrously intimate caress before stepping back into a predatory stance and gripping his elegant blade in preparation. 

The man’s drunken brain had finally noticed the blades in their hands and seemed to conclude that they were not police after all. He lowered his hands, eyes darting across to another room. Probably thinking of where his weapon was. Will quickly darted forward as the man started to run and stabbed him in his lower back puncturing his kidneys. The man whirled around and closed his hands around Will’s throat. Will ducked his chin down toward his chest, easing the pressure on his throat and buying himself more time to pry the mans meaty hands off of him.

Hannibal moved in now stabbing the man in the gut and twisting the blade vehemently. The man’s grip loosened considerably at that and Will was able to shove his hands off of him with ease. He quickly stepped in closer and drew his blade across the man’s throat. Slitting so deeply that blood began to gurgle out in a steady pulsing flow. He stared down at the man. He looked like a hooked fish, laying there mouth bobbing open in gasping breaths, glassy placid eyes staring up without understanding. Will felt a weakness in his legs and dropped to his knees on the floor. His hands were shaking as he tried to press back memories of both times he had seen Abigail like this. He let his righteous rage stabilize him as he stared into the man’s eyes, watching him fade.

Hannibal followed him down to his knees in the most dignified and graceful motion possible. He leaned in, taking Will’s knife in the same hand that held his own before placing them both beside him. Then he wrapped his arms around Will, pulling him in to rest his chin against his shoulder and stroking fingers through his curls. Will breathed against his neck. He could smell the scent of Hannibal as well as the smell of fresh blood pervading the room.

“It was over so fast.” He muttered under his breath. Hannibal could hear him clearly because he had spoken so near his ear.

“Indeed… I suppose we can’t always be slaying Dragons, they are so rare.” Hannibal remarked.

“More like a Komodo Dragon.” Will muttered under his breath. He could feel the beginnings of a chuckle in his throat, but it wouldn’t come all the way out. Hannibal smiled in amusement at him.

After a while of sitting there embracing near their latest victim Hannibal broke away to check the woman lying on the floor again. He turned toward Will as his head felt the damage at the back of her skull. She had a long thick cascade of shiny black hair that Will always associated with Latina women. He supposed that fit with the screamed Spanish he had heard. She had sharply angled penciled eyebrows. Her lip was puffy and split, a smear of blood still lying there. Probably from a blow that she’d received before they’d arrived. Will could also see a fading yellowish bruise across her throat where large hands had squeezed tight against her throat. Evidence that this type of disturbance was not rare here. Will looked back at the man reveling in the sight of his wounds and reliving the feeling of his knife slashing across his throat. He’d liked to strangle people apparently. Will could feel nothing but joy at the gory death he had given him. He was a monster to be sure, but not one of any importance or grace, he was without design, like a wild animal at the mercy of every tempestuous instinct that crossed his savage brain.

“We shouldn’t risk moving her yet. She will probably come to in a few hours.”

Will nodded in response. Hannibal rinsed off his hands and face in the sink before turning to the fridge and cupboards to find some suitable food. 

“It’s a shame we can’t take any meat from him but we can’t risk giving jack any hint that we’re alive, or where we are.”

Will hummed in agreement, and got up looking for the shower. The sticky drying blood had started to feel itchy against his skin. The bathroom was tiny and cramped but there was plenty of hot water. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a shower so much. It had only been about day and a half since he last showered, but a lot had happened against his skin since then. He and Hannibal had killed the Dragon his blood flowing over both of them, along with a profuse amount of their own blood. Then the ocean had washed it all away only to leave behind that itchy salt residue. As they had driven south he could smell the salt water emanating from both their skin, filling the car. The salt water was then washed away in blood again. Layer after layer of salty living fluid lay there and he scrubbed it away until his skin was pink and tingly all over. He got out of the shower reluctantly but he knew Hannibal would want to shower as well so he turned the water off before the hot water had a chance to wane.

He emerged from the bathroom with nothing but a floral print towel wrapped around his waist, joining Hannibal in the kitchen. Hannibal had assembled some basic ingredients on the counter, clearly planning out their late night meal. A box of elbow macaroni and a stumpy end of a block of cheese lay before him.

“I think I can makes some macaroni and cheese.” He said.

“They have milk and eggs in the fridge and even a decent assortment of spices although they have gone a bit stale.” He added. 

Will had no idea that spices could go stale. But he would never admit this to Hannibal now that his desire to traumatize him had faded, his lips twitched in a would be smile when he pictured Hannibal’s face at such a revelation. Once you had mastered the art of reading his micro-expressions he could be just as much fun to needle as any other human.

Will thought his expression was unusually pleased with the limited fare this home had produced for his gourmet tastes, but then Will followed his gaze down to the curving silvery scar that stretched across his own stomach. Hannibal was gazing at it with hunger. Desire. Will knew well enough how capable he was of disguising his true reactions, the fact that he no longer bothered to do so revealed that the nature of their ongoing courtship had changed. He no longer felt the necessity of disguising his need for Will behind an impassive an analytic stare. Will had once been uncomfortable with Hannibal’s long stares despite how he had concealed them. But now he could feel his heartbeat speeding up in reaction to it. He had already thought Hannibal was intoxicating and overwhelming to be near, but now that Hannibal was no longer hiding, his response to him seemed to escalate to a nearly overwhelming degree, he could almost hear his blood rushing in his ears.

He took in a breath with a sharp audible intake of air. Hannibal stepped closer to him, seeming to occupy the same air with his nearness. He reached out stroking his fingers across the length of his scar, Will shuddered and closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion and physical reactions this summoned in him. When he felt Hannibal pull away he opened his eyes again taking a calming and steadying breath before looking back into his eyes. Hannibal wore a faintly smug smile, probably relishing the reaction he had been able to cause in Will so easily. Will huffed out a silent laugh at how obviously pleased he looked.

“There’s still plenty of hot water, you should go get cleaned up.” He said. His voice came out a bit hoarse; whether from infrequent use or being strangled he wasn’t sure.

Hannibal smiled at him and turned to trace Will’s path back to the bathroom.

Will walked further into the kitchen searching for a large pot and filling it up with water, adding some salt and setting it to boil across the stove. Hannibal wouldn’t tolerate Will messing up his creation with his poor cooking skills, but he could at least boil water, ensuring that the pasta was ready to boil when he got out of the shower. He was pretty hungry by now and he figured that Hannibal was as well.

He wandered until he found the bedroom; it smelled of stale sweat, smelled of the humans who had occupied it. Hannibal would hate it. He opened the windows to the humid but fresher air outside and then found a cupboard in the hall with fresh sheets and blankets and carried them back into the bedroom. He stripped away the old sheets and blankets from the bed and carried them back to the living room. He laid the blankets over the unconscious woman, and draped the sheets over the large body and spreading pool of blood before returning to the bedroom to prepare the bed. He was dead tired and he wanted to sleep in a bed immediately after they ate. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake Hannibal with his nightmares and sweating.

He eased the corners of the fitted sheet over the edges of the sagging mattress carefully smoothing out the wrinkles and puckers. As he worked he became aware of the faint sounds of tiny breaths coming from under the bed followed by a tiny rustle of movement. He froze in shock at the realization that he was not alone in the room, but he quickly realized that whoever or whatever may be under the bed it probably wasn’t a threat to them; otherwise they wouldn’t be hiding in silence. He lowered himself down to his knees, lowering his head down to look underneath the bed. His eyes were slow to take in the what he was seeing taking a moment to adjust to the limited light, when his eyes adjusted he found himself looking directly into frightened wide eyes.


	6. All The Babies Tucked Away In Their Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is surprised to find someone he hadn't expected. Could this be the start of a new murder family?

He eased the corners of the fitted sheet over the edges of the sagging mattress carefully smoothing out the wrinkles and puckers. As he worked he became aware of the faint sounds of tiny breaths coming from under the bed followed by a tiny rustle of movement. He froze in shock at the realization that he was not alone in the room, but he quickly realized that whoever or whatever may be under the bed it probably wasn’t a threat to them; otherwise they wouldn’t be hiding in silence.

He lowered himself down to his knees, lowering his head down to look underneath the bed. His eyes were slow to take in the what he was seeing taking a moment to adjust to the limited light, when his eyes adjusted he found himself looking directly into frightened wide eyes. He took in the shape of tiny body and round face, and realized that there was a tiny child curled up under the bed. They had probably fled to this location when their parents had started fighting. The usual spot. The young mind had already adapted, learned how to survive this harsh environment as so many unfortunate young children do. He reached out gesturing for them to come closer.

“Hey you want to come out from under there? It’s okay you’re safe now.”

He made his voice as soft and welcoming as possible so that if they didn’t understand his words the tone would make his intentions clear. The tiny figure hesitated for a beat before starting to inch toward him, eventually their head emerging from under the bed. When the child fully emerged from underneath the bed, crouching down beside him, their deep brown eyes looked up into his as though searching for a clue to his intentions. He looked down at the tiny child, the pink leggings and floral t-shirt along with brown hair curling wildly and framing the small round face led him to conclude that she was a little girl. She was very tiny but bore a maturity of facial expression and intelligence in her eyes that led him to believe she was older than she looked. She slowly stood up beside him and the motor control evident in her movements made him even more certain that her size was not the right way to place her age. She was no taller than a one-year-old maybe even a nine-month-old. But as he considered her he figured she was probably more like two or three. Perhaps she was just tiny as her mother was. Perhaps it was something else.

“Hi there I’m Will. What’s your name?”

She blinked at him but didn’t reply. Either she didn’t understand English, he had been wrong about her age, or the circumstances of her life had rendered her muter then other children her age. He groped his memory for rusty remnants of Spanish from college.

“Como te llamas?” He asked tentatively.

She still didn’t reply. As he looked over her he found many signs of just how hard her life had been. Her arms were covered in finger shaped bruises and what looked like cigarette burns. Her face and clothes were dirty, and though he could tell she wasn’t wearing a diaper a dark wet stain across her leggings indicate that she had wet her pants, probably out of fear of the events transpiring in the living room. Now will was sure that it wasn’t lack of understanding or being younger than he had thought that kept her from speaking but the abject horrors of her daily life that had stunted her speech and kept her wrapped up safely inside herself. There had been no need to speak in the life she currently lived, only a need for silence and hiding in the dark.

 Will felt a rush of anger at the sight of the neglect and abuse she had evidently received. He wondered if she was just tiny because her mom was tiny or if she was malnourished as well. He no longer viewed her mother as an innocent. She was a victim to be sure, but she had also failed entirely to protect her daughter. Will could understand her lack of care for her own safety or her own life. He often felt that way himself recently, but to bring such a brilliant precious life into the world and allow her to suffer such harm was unfathomable and unforgivable. He tried to press back the churn of hypocritical guilt that rushed up with the sudden memory of watching as Hannibal slit Abigail’s throat. That was different he told himself. Abigail was not quite as innocent and defenseless as this tiny creature, and he had not even known she was alive to protect.

When he thought about how much he would have sacrificed, how much he would risk to have saved her even though he had only known her little more than a month, he couldn’t fathom how a person could nurture a completely innocent and new life inside their own body, undergo immense pain to bring them into life in this world, to care for them when they were so tiny and defenseless, to know them from the moment they took their first breath, and then allow them to know such abject horrors in their life. No. Her mother had not tried even a tenth as hard to protect this little girl, as he would have to have saved Abigail. With this realization his rage surged up anew, he could feel it pulsing through his blood stream. No. No. No. It was like a chant taking over his brain, a rejection of reality. NO! This could not stand! He took a deep breath trying to calm the storm raging through his body. Trying to think through what he should do rationally. What would happen if they left her mother alive and left the girl here with her? Would she be safe? Would her life proceed onto a safe and happy path? He could not envision that outcome. No. The woman who lay unconscious in the other room could not guarantee that outcome. 

He looked around at his surroundings, at the clues of the lives that head been led here. He closed his eyes trying to feel them as they were. Everything he could see screamed of learned helplessness, of repeating patterns of abuse stretching across generations. No. Her abusive husband was dead, but she didn’t know how to be alone. She would find another one, someone familiar to replace him. He would be the same or worse, someone who knew how to find vulnerable children with apathetic mothers, someone who knew how to take what they wanted and give nothing but pain. He couldn’t let that happen. As the rage built he could feel himself start to disassociate, to pull away from the reality he found himself in, to pull away from his own emotions. The edges of the room faded to blurry shadows. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t tell whether his heart was beating to fast or two slow. He sat up on the edge of the bed. He wanted to close off, escape into his mind, but he couldn’t leave her alone again.

Instead he pulled her up into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his neck. His heart broke a little more at how readily she would take comfort from a stranger. His psychology training pitched in that this was a strong indication of an attachment disorder. Yeah that’s helpful, of course she has an attachment disorder. He thought sarcastically. He supposed naming things and falling back on academic training would ground him; help him not to flee into his mind. He began to rock slightly, whispering to her that she was going to be all right.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He felt her head rise off his shoulder, her hands clenching at the back of his neck, which was still damp from where his wet curls were dripping. He turned. Hannibal was standing in the doorway a soft admiring expression on his face.

“You’ve found another stray already.”

He felt an irrational burst of agitation at this.

“I’m not sure breaking into a house and killing a little girls parent’s counts as ‘finding a stray’…” He replied trying to hide his bad mood behind the level and playful tone of voice.”

“Her mother is still alive.” Hannibal replied, his face curious.

“For the moment.” Will replied grimly.

He stood up and approached Hannibal still holding the girl. They were both wearing nothing but towels. Which felt kind of ridiculous.

“It’s okay this is Hannibal. He’s safe.” His throat constricted at the blatant lie. “You’re safe with him.” He added. Toddlers couldn’t understand concepts like safe _for now_. And he didn’t want to confuse her if she did understand.

“Could you take her… please?” He said to Hannibal leaning forward with his bundle.

Hannibal reached out and took her from under her arms, cradling her over his shoulder and boosting her up from her bottom. Hands stroking through her curls as he had so often done to Will. He started singing to her gently in Lithuanian and swaying slowly. She squeezed him tighter and nestled into the crook of his neck, every bit as eagerly as she had with him. His face must have betrayed his incredulity at the sight because Hannibal quirked his lips in humor, pausing his song long enough to say.

“Even I had a family once Will.”

Will flushed and brushed past him into the hall striding back into the living room and kneeling down by the unconscious woman. He had something to take care of before she woke up. That would make things too messy. Hannibal followed him into the room carefully angling the girl so she was facing away from the sight of her parents on the floor. He kept singing to her but his eyes followed Will with rapt attention. He wanted to see what he would do.

Will looked down at the woman, pushing the hair back from her face and off of her neck. He looked up at Hannibal once more. Partly to be sure he wasn’t letting her see, and partly because he could feel the heaviness of his gaze on him and he had to look. Had to know that Hannibal was okay with this. He reached out and covered the young woman’s mouth tightly and pinched her nose shut. He could feel the Ravenstag at his back, feel it’s hot breath snuffling at his neck. She thrashed weakly at first, but she was already so injured, so broken, she seemed almost to step calmly and quietly into the abyss. When she stopped moving will continued to block her breathing. Suffocating someone wasn’t like in the movies where as soon as they went limp you could drop them and you were done. No. If you really didn’t want them to wake up later you had to be dedicated. Patient. He dipped his ear down to her chest several times listening for her heart beat. When finally he couldn’t hear it anymore he kept listening, he counted to thirty. Still nothing. Now that he was sure she was dead he pulled the blankets up over her face.

He turned back to Hannibal whose eyes looked hawkish and analytical. His song had faded to a vague humming. He thought back to the first conversation he’d had with Hannibal. ‘You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.’ He wanted to laugh at himself, at the cliché of that line. But he’d wanted to push everyone away, and abrasive cliché’s usually worked. Not with Hannibal of course. Nothing worked with Hannibal. That’s how they’d ended up here wasn’t it? 

“You’ve got your triptych still, even now.” Will gave him a pained half smile.

“I was the Chesapeake Ripper… Together we are something else.” Hannibal answered. Will nodded.

“I’m going to give her a bath.” He said.

Now that the banal practicality of living began to press on them again it was easier to ignore the pain and speak anyway. Now that he had someone who needed him his days of numb drifting were over. They had to be.

He got up walking back to the bathroom putting the little rubber stopper in the bathtub drain and filling the tub up a little bit. There wasn’t much hot water left, but that was okay he knew kids her age liked it lukewarm.

Hannibal had followed him into the bathroom and placed her on her feet beside him. His hand swept briefly across Will’s back before he turned padding in his towel and bare feet back to the kitchen. Will could tell the girl loved the water, when he helped her out of her soiled clothes and placed her in the tub she donned a small quiet smile and began splashing and playing. Will splashed her back and her smile grew more delighted, her eyes seemed to sparkle with it. Will’s heart felt like it had seized in his chest. He felt slain. Already. ‘Fuck me.’ He thought inelegantly.

He scrubbed the washcloth across her, revealing clean and smooth olive skin. When he washed her hair the weight of the water stretched her curls and he could see her hair was longer than he had thought and her tiny ears were already pierced. The water was growing cold so he pulled the stopper and wrapped her in a towel, pulling her out of the tub and drying her skin and hair with brisk strokes of the towel. When he lifted her again taking her back to the bedroom he could see that Hannibal had moved the bodies somewhere. He was relieved that the girl would not see them accidentally.

He plopped her down onto the bed and began looking for any sign of the girl’s clothes. He found them in a drawer in the lower left corner of a white dresser. The drawer was haphazardly stuffed with leggings under wear and t-shirts. He picked out a pair of underwear, leopard print leggings, and a t-shirt with a cat on the front. He helped her into them and turned back to the drawer. He pulled out all the clothes in the drawer, folding and placing them on the bed before he went shuffling around looking for a duffle bag. He found a blue bag with yellow butterflies that looked a bit like a diaper bag. He pushed all of her clothes into it. They would need to leave early in the morning. 

He walked back into the kitchen. He could feel the pad of her tiny bare feet following behind him. Hannibal had set the small formerly cluttered table with three ceramic bowls full of macaroni and cheese. It smelled delicious. He sat down in front of one of the bowls eager to start eating but knowing he should wait for Hannibal. The little girl crawled up into his lap and reached toward the food eagerly. He pulled the food closer to her and watched as she began eating. Hannibal sat down with the quirk of an eyebrow that suggested that this lack of dinner table etiquette would be tolerated _for now._ Hannibal sat across from him and began eating as well, so Will pulled the third bowl toward him and began shoveling food into his mouth directly from the bowl in his hands, just as he would have at home if he hadn’t had Hannibal watching him with disapproval. This was probably the last time he would eat like this in a very long time.

Hannibal and Will finished eating long before the girl but he stayed seated so she could continue undisturbed while Hannibal began on their dishes. She ate a lot for her age. She had probably been very hungry. When she finished He wiped her face with a paper napkin, before he sat up, lifting her up with him, and then… his towel fell down. He looked down at it laying in a pile on the floor and sighed, flushing with embarrassment. Hannibal smirked at him. He set the girl down and bent down to pull the towel back up, re-wrapping it.

“I put our clothes in the wash earlier. I will transfer them into the dryer they should be ready by the time we wake up.”

Will nodded. He supposed Hannibal was no more eager to wear the clothes of the wife/child abuser then he was. Psychological Essentialism. Knowing the irrational psychology behind it didn’t make it any less distasteful to him. 

When Hannibal had washed and put away the last bowl they entered the bedroom. Will finished the task that had been interrupted by her discovery, spreading out the flat sheet and fresh comforter with Hannibal’s help. Hannibal turned off the light switch and they both took advantage of the dark to slip out of their towels and under the covers. The girl darted back under the bed and will was prepared to have to coax her back out again, but she emerged soon after with a ratty old teddy bear and dingy baby blanket and crawled onto the bed nestling right in between their shoulders and curling into a little ball, exactly like his dogs had like to do between him and Molly when they had let them. This couldn’t be farther from how he’d imagined his and Hannibal’s first night sharing a bed would be. But it felt comforting and familiar nonetheless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I'm going to need a lot of names before I continue so consider this your opportunity to suggest some!
> 
> I can't keep calling her "the little girl" I'm thinking Chiyoh will give her a Japanese name with a cool meaning. Maybe it will even be a boys name, Because of Mischa reasons.
> 
> I'm also sure Hannibal would want a Lithuanian name or at least it would have a Lithuanian spelling, and I have an idea for one, but I'm open to suggestions, there's probably something better out there.


	7. Cursed With a Love That You Can't Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find Chiyoh and become official 'Murder Husbands'

They had left early in the morning to find Chiyoh by the docks. She stood waiting for them like a stoic sentinel of sorts. Will was much more relieved to see her without her gun. According to Hannibal she had aided in his rescue, but he had been unconscious at the time so his last memory of her was still one of being thrown off a train and then being shot. He was nervous to see her again, let alone escape the country with her. She greeted them with the tiniest hint of surprise in her face to see them with a small child, but she didn’t comment and she smiled warmly at the girl before leading them back to where she had left the boat.

Hannibal had mentioned they would be leaving on a boat, but Will was surprised to see that it was in fact _his_ boat. He smiled at Hannibal with a bemused expression wondering why or how Chiyoh had managed this. Hannibal for his part looked delighted to have surprised Will. He wore his pleased and smug expression. 

When they boarded he could see that Chiyoh had stocked the boat well with all of their needs for travel. She had bought them clothes, toiletries, food, wine, whiskey, computers, phones, speakers, navigation equipment, fishing supplies, and even a device for making a wifi hotspot on the boat. It seemed like she had thought of everything, except of course for their new addition, which she could hardly be faulted for.

Hannibal smiled at her. “You have truly thought of everything Chiyoh. As you can see we have unexpected company so I’m afraid I must ask you to make one more trip before we leave, to get some supplies for the little one here.”

“Yes. I thought as much when I saw you approach. I’m afraid I didn’t do much in the way of child proofing it.”

“Yes, Will’s presence has a way of attracting complications.” Hannibal replied with a tone of bemusement.

Will glanced up, ready to scowl at this characterization, but his objection died in his throat when he saw just how fond and pleased Hannibal looked, as if he had actually just implied that Will’s presence brought rainbows and unicorns wherever he went. Now will had the impulse to scowl for an entirely different reason, but he just ducked his head and bent down to lift the little girl out of her stroller, balancing her on one hip and holding tightly as he boarded his boat and surveyed all the new additions.

Chiyoh returned a few hours later with bags of child specific amenities, clothes, toys, books, food. Anything she could think of that a child might need, and began putting them away. The girl had long since fallen back asleep. The four hours of sleep they had gotten in the early morning hours before leaving had left her very tired.

Will smiled to himself when he imagining the austere and stoic Chiyoh deliberating over cutesy pink stuffed toys in the store, trying to determine what to buy. Although she had spent a fair amount of her life in a sort of care taking capacity, he assumed the skills needed for imprisoning a scrawny, crazed, potential cannibal for fifteen years must be decidedly different from this particular scenario. As always her face revealed nothing of her feelings about this new situation, or her comfort with it.

He couldn’t help but noticed how truly like Hannibal she was. This woman was so clearly someone who was influenced by, even raised by Hannibal from a young age, and he had a sudden incredulous flash of ‘the girl’ in 30 years, trained in the art of smelling things, bizarre metaphors, and sophisticated weaponry. The thought was slightly amusing at first, but a perturbing sort of panic followed quickly on its heels, and he pushed the thought deep inside, back below the quiet surface of his present calm.

Hannibal was now unpacking the duffle he had carried with him when they had left the house by the cliff. He pulled out two passports and handed one of them to Will. Will opened it looking down at his face, a perfect replica of his old passport but with a different name. He looked back up at Hannibal.

“How…” His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of this. “You had passports ready?”

Hannibal nodded. “I told you a place was made for us Will.”

Will swallowed hard, suddenly understanding. These were left over from when Hannibal had first planned for them to escape together. It seemed like such a long time ago now, but the memory still stung, made the wound feel fresh. He wondered if Abigail’s passport was still waiting in that bag, or if he had disposed of it already. He pushed down the aching feeling in his gut, trying to force a smile. 

“Well I guess we have the chance to take it now.”

He looked down at it again. His name was still William. Only the last name was changed. He supposed that was reasonable enough considering how common his first name was. _Hannibal_ though. There’s no way he could continue to go by a name like that. Certainly not after Chilton’s book had gone into wide circulation. He wondered what name Hannibal would have given himself now that he had a choice. He reached out for Hannibal’s passport, tilting it so he could see the name, but his eyes slipped past the first name immediately when he noticed something that made him let out a startled breath. He had given them the same last name.

“We have the same last name.” He said stupidly.

“Yes.” Hannibal said with an amused smirk.

“But… we’re not brothers.” Bedelia had made it abundantly clear how obvious she thought they were. No. Even Will knew that the tension, the visceral link between them would never let them pass for brothers.

“No.” Hannibal replied calmly.

He hated that Hannibal sounded so calm when he was inwardly panicking. He took a deep calming breath. His grip on the passport tightened but he was able to force an air of outer calm.

“Most people propose first.” He replied quirking his eyebrows at Hannibal.

“We are not most people Will.” Will huffed an amused breath in response.

Hannibal cocked his head toward him thoughtfully. “You have already dedicated your life to me Will. We were wed the moment you chose to jump off that cliff with me. You left behind everything. Your family, your life, your entire past. You jumped knowing that however long you lived. The rest of your life would be spent with me. That you could never go back, never undo it. A proposal and a marriage license pales in comparison to that.” Hannibal looked into his eyes, his gaze intense. “It’s a bit more dramatic than jumping the broom I’ll admit, but then you’ve never been one for half measures, and neither have I.” 

Will tore his eyes away with great difficulty, looking down and smiling. It was all painfully, gut wrenchingly true.

“I made shattered teacups of both of us.” He whispered.

“In union we are repaired and made whole at our seams. We are Kintsugi now. All our broken places made more beautiful. Shining and golden like the sun.” Hannibal replied. His smile was practically radiant.

“Yeah… Okay.” Will whispered. That was possibly the most underwhelming and inelegant response to a declaration like that possible. He knew he should say something else, but he couldn’t seem to breathe. “I…” He trailed off there, exhaling heavily. He met Hannibal’s eyes, his intensity hadn’t faded, but he didn’t seem offended by Will’s response. Or lack thereof. Will realized Hannibal had dropped his hold on his passport at some point so he moved to press it back into his hand. 

He left his palm lingering over Hannibal’s letting his fingers curl around the edges. Gripping his hand like it was a lifeline. Hannibal removed the passport with his other hand freeing their hands to join completely, letting their palms slide together, their fingers interlace. He stepped a little closer to Hannibal so their arms would press gently together. He felt his warmth as it radiated through his shirtsleeves. Hannibal squeezed his hand, an acknowledgement, an acceptance. Telling Will that he understood that he wasn’t always good with verbal communication. That his feelings were appreciated in whatever form he chose to express them. 

After a moment he laughed a little silent laugh, his breath shuddering out around it. Freddie had been right after all. They were officially ‘Murder Husbands’ now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly unknown references:
> 
> Kintsugi: Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi
> 
> Jumping the broom: A term for a marriage tradition originating from the Romani of Britain, from African tradition, and also practiced during antebellum south slavery. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jumping_the_broom


	8. It Won't Be Enough To Be Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what exactly is their new last name? The answer may lead to adorable flirtation, and a tiny bit of angsty emotional foreplay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During some research while trying to pick out suitable new names I found out that Hannibal's mother was from the House of Sforza, which means Hannibal is half Italian and from a famous family as well. His attachment to Florence and Italy makes a lot of sense in light of this and led to a lot more on the subject of their last name arising in this story then I had planned for.

Will was processing the shock of finding himself… well, married to an entirely different person then he had been married to the day before. And the careless callousness of that thought dropped in his gut like a weight. He felt guilty about it, and then he felt guilty that he didn’t feel _more_ guilty. He wondered what it was like to be Hannibal. To be so completely apart from the rest of humanity, that conventional emotions like guilt or regret only hovered across his face like a film, a mask, never actually touching his skin or sinking into it.

It must be a very light feeling, to hover above the stratosphere of human turmoil like that. He wondered in turn if most people wouldn’t think the exact same thing about him. After all the speed with which he had completely replaced his old family should feel so much worse than this. He shouldn’t be able to shed an entire life, an entire history like and old skin and walk away from it even close to new or whole. But he couldn’t help but retain that irrational feeling that had circled in his brain during their trip south. That he hadn’t abandoned anyone, but rather had died and woken to a new life, that he was wiped clean like a blank slate.

His thoughts slipped away returning to his, _their_ , new last name. They were the Sforza’s now, and the name rubbed against the edge of his mind with an itch of familiarity, it was something old, something laden in historical context. He furrowed his brow as the context emerged from his mind with a sudden sharply defined clarity.

“So… Sforza? Like _The_ _House_ of Sforza? Is it that hard to lower yourself to having an average last name?” He asked Hannibal, the corners of his mouth turning in a wry smile.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed a tad at this, his expression seeming to say ‘remember that I eat the rude Will.’ 

“If you must know it was my mother’s maiden name. I wanted to retain something of my heritage if both of my names must change. I am the last surviving member of my family after all.” 

“Oh.” Will replied stupidly. Well now he just felt like a dick. As well as being acutely aware of just how little he had bothered to find out about Hannibal from the man himself. He supposed there was only so much you could learn from stalking the shadows of someone across Europe, from haunting their mind palace to carry on imaginary conversations. Will pressed his lips together in thought. “So I took your name then?”

“For all anyone will know I took your name. It is safer that way, besides, despite the fact that I am half Italian, and you aren’t. You do look more credibly Italian than I do. I took after my father in appearance.” Hannibal arched an eyebrow at him. “As far as any records will show my surname was Marcinkevičius. I chose to take your name for the obvious reasons that your name was far more notable, and mine was far less pronounceable.”

Will hummed in agreement. He had to admit there was a distinct logic to all of it. Hannibal had clearly put a great deal of thought into all of this. He had no doubt he even had some reason for choosing Marcin... whatever it was, as his original name. Hannibal was nothing if not obsessively thoughtful in every detail. He was oddly touched that Hannibal had given away his family name to Will. It seemed he was determined to make Will family in every way possible. He wished he had something equally as precious to give back, but Will had no attachment to what little he knew of his heritage. The notion of family was alien and new to him, let alone the thought of ancestry or a family tree.

“It’s your eyebrows.” Will replied. The non sequitur of his thoughts tended to irritate most, but it always seemed to intrigue Hannibal. He quirked the said brows questioningly, waiting for Will to expound on his statement. “That’s why you don’t look Italian. People expect Italians to have… you know… visible eyebrows.”

Hannibal looked amused at this, his mouth curving into that subtle smile that always distracted Will. “Are you implying that I _don’t_ have eyebrows?”

“Well you have them… it’s just that they are so… without pigment… they kind of blend into your skin.” Will was starting to flush now, but he pressed on, not wanting Hannibal to think he was saying this was a flaw. His mouth was terribly uncooperative with his thoughts sometimes.

“And anyway you would hardly notice because your face is so subtly expressive and your bone structure so… detailed, that you always manage to leave the distinct impression that you can see them… your eyebrows that is… and your mouth is very Italian.” He added hastily. “It has that delicate shape, the slight pout, a mysterious half quirked smile. It looks like a da Vinci portrait.” 

Will was fully blushing now and it seemed to please Hannibal to no end. He deliberately wet his lips in a slight movement of his tongue, causing Will’s eyes to dart to his lips in blatant and embarrassing fascination.

“I’m glad you find something to appreciate in my… features.” Hannibal replied his smirk growing.

Will continued to trace Hannibal's lips with his eyes, letting a little hunger seep into his expression, he was already sinking in it now, he might as well enjoy his descent. He thought of how he’d once told Hannibal that Alana was very kissable. It felt ridiculous now. How could he have thought that? _This_ was the epitome of kissable. It was almost ludicrous how long it had taken him to notice.

Hannibal stepped closer to him. His strides whispered dangerously ‘ _Predator_ ’. Will found he was holding his breath as Hannibal reached up, tangling his hands in curls, gripping his head from both sides, long fingers caressing, pressed against the curves of his skull. Will felt frozen, paralyzed, like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. He had felt this before, many times. Several of which were memories recovered from his time with Hannibal manipulating his mind, using his illness to render him powerless. He remembered with shock as his memories had returned, that every act of violence and manipulation had been coupled with many more acts of insistent intimacy, acts of almost obsessive self-revelation. As though Hannibal felt compelled in these moments to cut himself open, bare himself with twice as much brutality as he bared Will open.

He felt equally paralyzed by Hannibal’s gaze. His eyes were trapped because he was unwilling to look away. His breath returned, not by choice, but because it had to. It crashed back into his lungs with a rattling ferocity that he couldn’t contain. His scalp seemed to tingle electrically at each point of contact with Hannibal's fingertips. His heartbeat thumped and wrenched in his ribcage like a trapped animal. 

He reached up, his hands clenching reflexively on Hannibal's arm. This too was familiar; he had done it many times before. Somewhere along their twisted path to each other this all had begun to feel less like a violation, and more like passion, love. The familiar motions took on the pattern of seduction. Will glanced down at Hannibal’s lips again, and then back into his eyes, perhaps they could advance the choreography of _this dance_  a little further this time. They were married now after all. 

Hannibal leaned in until their noses brushed. Pushed into his space, his air. He closed his eyes, and Will closed his eyes too, not because he didn’t want to see, he wanted it. But because his body seemed unwilling to view something that Hannibal could not. He felt the soft press of Hannibal's lips against his own, they lingered there softly, warm skin connecting, lingering for a moment. He could feel the delicate slide of skin as Hannibal’s lips began to part from his too soon, and he wrenched his eyes open, desperate to see, desperate to know how Hannibal would look in such an unguarded moment.

He had opened his eyes a second before Hannibal did, and in that moment he saw it. The truth, that Hannibal felt as wrecked, as savaged as he did. The rush of power, of joy was like no other exhilaration he had known. It had him immediately, desperately, plotting a path for getting it back again. He wondered perhaps if Hannibal’s touch was so intoxicating because of how hard it was to earn, how much suffering was required to procure it.

 

* * *

 

Leonardo da Vinci drawing featuring those cute little cupids bow lips:

 

Botticelli portrait thought to be of a famous sforza:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opinions about Italians and eyebrows expressed in this fanfic... probably does reflect the opinions of the author. My apologies for the overgeneralization if you are an Italian with invisible eyebrows.


	9. I Wake Up Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is adjusting to life with his new murder family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this next chapter took so long. I was visiting my family for holiday break and I got distracted.

After they had loaded all the additional supplies. He cast them off, sailing away from the dock. Chiyoh and Hannibal had begun organizing and putting away all their fresh supplies, folding clothes and packing them in to sliding plastic storage bins. Neatly tucking away food in storage containers.

 

Chiyoh had crammed the tiny cabin with two low futon mattresses that lay on the floor. One looked to be about a full size, the other a twin. He supposed even under normal circumstances people of the same gender normally shared, and there was certainly not enough room for three beds. Just last night he had shared a bed with Hannibal as well as a toddler. So it felt ridiculous that now the obvious expectations of their sleeping arrangements made him panic, but suddenly it all seemed so real, so domestic, and so claustrophobic. If he was honest with himself he found Chiyoh pretty terrifying, but the prospect of sharing a room or a bed with her did not scare him in the same visceral way as sharing one with Hannibal did.

 

He wanted it too much he realized. His body didn’t know how to experience excitement, arousal, and not translate it into fear, especially with Hannibal. He wondered if Hannibal’s endless mind-fuck of a courtship had done this to him, or if he had always been this way. He wondered if it was because he was a man. If after all this he was still so constricted by his upbringing, his cop background, that he was going to have a big gay freak out about this, and now of all times. He pushed the scream/sob/whimper that was trying to claw its way out of his throat down deep back inside, he busied himself with navigation, and when they were set on a straight course he stood up front and watched the water parting and rushing over the bow. He didn’t know how long he had been out here, once it had gotten dark he lost track of how much time had passed.

 

He could hear Hannibal climbing up the steps from the cabin, quiet footfalls and long strides approached him from behind. Even if he had been silent Will would have been able to feel it. The sensation of Hannibal’s gaze had been a palpable force to him for a long time now, a pavlovian response long since engraved into his very skin. Hannibal walked up beside him turning to face his side. He reached out wrapping his fingers around Will wrist, a firm enveloping ring of pressure. An entreaty. A bridge.

 

“Don't go inside, will. Stay with me.”

 

It was an echo of words he’d said before, and he would probably say many times again. Retreat did seem to be a favorite coping mechanism. He looked over at Hannibal cautiously.

 

“Come. Lets get some sleep.” Hannibal said tugging at his wrist.

 

At the suggestion, or more likely order, Will realized he didn’t know how long he had been up here, and he was actually pretty tired. With Hannibal here beside him, holding him, his fears and panics from earlier seemed beyond absurd. So he turned to walk toward the sails and pulled to slack the mainsheet. The boat quickly slowed its advance through the dark surface of the ocean. He turned back to the edge of the deck and dropped the sea anchor to insure they wouldn’t drift off course while they slept. Then he allowed Hannibal to lead him back to the small cabin.

 

The lights were dim and Chiyoh was already asleep next to the girl on her own bed. Hannibal had of course made up their bed with some ridiculous thousand thread count sheets and duvet cover, but when he slipped out of his too long jeans and slipped under the covers in his underwear and t-shirt he decided that this would not be one of Hannibal’s affectations that he would object to. The sheets were amazingly comfortable. The silky smooth fabric against his skin and the rocking of the boat made him feel like he was floating, and he quickly fell into that dreamy half sleep where everything felt as it should be. Even when Hannibal slipped into bed beside him his ‘big gay panic’ from earlier did not resurface. The heavy weight by his side felt _right_ , the way Will curled himself into the arc of Hannibal’s body felt _right_ , and Hannibal’s hand pressing against his back felt so very _right_. He thought he could hear the murmur of Hannibal’s heartbeat beyond the gentle breaths and he drifted into a deep sleep almost immediately.

 

***

 

Will emerged from sleep slowly, like he was emerging from a vast fog. One that pulled back at him when he tried to leave, gripping him with heavy tendrils, a siren song of oblivion. The gentle rocking he’d thought was a part of his dreams continued even as the pressure on his limbs and light seeping through his eyelids made him feel very much awake.

 

He grasped for his dreams just the same. Sometimes they were terrifying, something he couldn’t wait to scramble away from, and sometimes, like this morning, they made him feel like he was at the edge of grasping something infinite and true, something that he had to reach back for, cling on too for as long as possible. Of course these dreams were the more elusive ones, they seemed to slip through his fingers like water. Leaving him still feeling the wet, but with nothing left to hold. Why was it that his nightmares took solid form and followed him throughout the day like shadows, when _this_ , whatever it was seemed so quick to flee his side?

 

He resisted wakening, keeping his eyes closed and pressing back into the rocking of waves, the dizziness engulfing him. He could regain the feeling of drifting, but his dreams were not true dreams, they were like memories left untainted by the presence of a fully awake mind, they took the shape of truth without his influence.

 

He was in Hannibal’s arms again at the top of the cliff. The moon shone brightly down into his eyes leaving a glint there in the depths of them as they gazed into Will. His delicate lips seemed parted in speech but all he could hear was his heartbeat, a loud rushing that was all encompassing. As if he was hearing him from within. They fell, and he clung so tight he felt he would leave handprints in the clay of Hannibal’s flesh. Then a rushing, stinging pain as they were ripped apart, plunging into pain, and back into the struggle.

 

Will could feel the drive pumping through him, propelling him like an engine. He would not let them break. He would not let them be separated again. He would fight harder for this than anything else. He knew it in that instant, he kicked his legs. He reached the surface, looking for Hannibal, his eyes wildly searching. The desperate clawing in his gut worsened with each passing second that he did not see him.

 

When Hannibal finally rose from the surf nearby his heart seemed like it would rupture from the flood of relief. He was safe. He had not made a mistake. He swam to him, cradled him in his arms, and swam toward the shore. They washed up there together. 

 

It seemed maybe that time had passed. But he could not be sure. Hannibal was above him now and he pulled him up, he could see the wince as he clutched his gut wound tightly, a wound, which now literally had salt in it. Will wanted to touch him, to kiss him, that he so valiantly fought his own body to be the strong one still. His body would not cooperate with these impulses. It was as though someone else was controlling it.

 

He turned following Hannibal down the shore, eventually meeting the huge wall of the cliff. It was shorter here, and as they approached he could see steps carved into it winding back and forth up the side. Hannibal led at first, of course Hannibal thought that was his place, but he began to falter, his pace slowing as the pain of his torn and ripped stomach pummeled him. Will knew that pain. Hannibal had given it to him once, and it still hadn’t compared to the pain of his abandonment. Will could not let him feel that, it didn’t matter that Hannibal had once left him with that wrenching lonely pain. They were different people, and Will would end this march of petty revenges, they had come so far since then.

 

He pulled Hannibal to him and with arms wrapped tightly in support, helped him up the winding steps of the cliff face, stopping for breath when the climb became to steep and the wind seemed to steal his breath. He didn’t remember when they reached the top, he only remembered the warmth of Hannibal’s blood as it soaked into his clothes. His labored breaths against his neck as he strained against the fatigue of blood loss. His fingers clenching in Will’s shoulder.

 

Will opened his eyes hesitantly as the memory faded back into the ether. Sometimes he was amazed at his capacity for dissociation, he had always been prone to it, but since the encephalitis, _since Hannibal_ , it was practically automatic. Luckily his superior memory always allowed him to get everything back… eventually.

 

As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight he took in the sights of the cabin. Chiyoh and the girl were asleep on the bed across from them. The girl was sleeping with her fingers clenched around a chunk of Chiyoh’s hair. That was probably something she had done with her mother Will realized with another guilty pang in his stomach. He was starting to become aware of what a huge mistake all this was. It had started with one horrible impulse and had only gotten worse from there. He could have taken the suffocating crush of regret if had been only him involved, and Chiyoh made her own choices, but why’d he did he have to go and get someone so vulnerable involved? The last couple of days were a bit of a haze, but it was hard to imagine how he could have been so far gone that he thought _this_ was a good idea.

 

As he flipped over onto his back he could feel his shoulder graze against warm skin. He looked over at Hannibal who had apparently been lying as close to him as was possible without actually touching him. He looked up at his face. He was awake but only recently so from the sleepy look of his face. He was not surprised that Hannibal was such a light sleeper that he woke up as soon as Will did. He hadn’t yet managed to catch him in complete unconsciousness but he imagined his tendency to wake up in the middle of the night would make that eventuality inevitable.

 

Hannibal smiled at him and pressed his nose into the curved line of Will’s neck, inhaling his scent softly. His hand pressed across Will’s bicep and across his chest as Hannibal pulled his body close against Will. He could feel his warmth seeping into his skin at each point of contact. He tried not to flush too hard at Hannibal’s deep inhale, obviously smelling him, before he’d even washed up. Obviously Hannibal was enjoying whatever he was smelling, he’d started to trace his lips up the same path his nose had taken. The delicate slide sent a chill up his spine, and a sudden heat that he tried to shrug off as he turned to face Hannibal, squinting against the shine of morning sun.

 

Will had gone to bed in his usual t-shirt and underwear, but Hannibal had fallen asleep in nothing but his underwear, and with an attitude of thinly veiled distain about the matter that led Will to conclude that Hannibal already considered this amount of clothes in bed to be an uncomfortable sacrifice in the name of privacy. He tucked his chin down in a shy gesture but his eyes still followed Hannibal avidly, cataloging all the dips and curves of his body that he’d had so little time to truly explore.

 

He reached his hand up and placed it over Hannibal’s hand where it lay across his chest, he could feel the strong lean fingers where they cradled against his collarbone. He let his eyes drop past his neck and chest, his eyes jolting down to a swollen pink wound with stitches that lay dark against the tender flesh. He blinked dumbly as the obvious source came back to him. Hannibal had been shot. That was what lay behind this hazy early morning drive to catalogue Hannibal’s body, make sure that he was okay. He reached out to him laying his fingers down an inch outside of where the skin began to look normal, instead of puffy and red. He inched his fingers closer a millimeter, twitching with the desire to reach out and feel for himself that he was okay, that he was healing.

 

“Did you stitch yourself up?” He whispered frowning down at the row of tight sutures.

 

“No. You did.” Hannibal answered with a proud smile. “You did a commendable job. Under my instruction you were also able to give me six absorbable sutures in my intestinal wall. It was remarkable.”

 

Will furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought. He had no memory of it. As was always the case when this happened it was extremely hard to imagine how he could have accomplished something so detailed in a mental state that would leave him with no memory. Usually when he said something like this he would have to work hard trying to banish Molly’s sad eyed expression for the rest of the day. Hannibal however showed no outward sign that he found Will’s lack of memory for recent events alarming or upsetting. He smiled patiently as though it were a matter of course that he would be missing large chunks of time. He supposed it could be normal for former patients of Dr. Lecter’s.

 

Will furrowed his brow and examined the stitches. They looked very neat for having been done in a fugue state by someone with minimal medical training, but he would have to take Hannibal’s word for it that he had done a good job. He pushed gently at Hannibal’s shoulder urging him to turn to his other side.

 

“Let me see.”

 

Hannibal obliged turning his back to Will so he could see the entry wound. He tried to temper the sharp inhale of breath that came when he saw Mason’s brand there. The pulpy twisted flesh now hardened and raised. He’d known it was there but he’d never looked, and he never would have been able to guess how large and how cruel it looked there against the smooth tan skin of Hannibal’s back. He forced his attention to the newer wound lower on his back. Like the exit wound it was red and stitched up neatly but it was much smaller and more precise than the hole in his stomach had been.

 

“And I stitched your intestines?”

 

“Yes, the bullet nicked them on the way out.”

 

“I’ve never done that before.”

 

“Don’t worry about me. Like I said you did an excellent job.”

 

“You’ve been taking antibiotics?” Will felt foolish. Of course he should assume that Hannibal had been taking care of himself, he was a doctor. But after seeing the wound he felt some desperate need to confirm that everything was okay. That Hannibal wasn’t about to be taken from him.

 

“Yes, and painkillers. As have you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Will did seem to remember being given some pills to take now that he thought about it. This explained why the last couple of days had felt so hazy. The fact that he had just taken them without asking what they were seemed reckless given Hannibal’s nature, but he supposed he was in for a pound now. Why start being cautious and having survival instincts now?

 

“Does it still hurt?” Will could still feel the burn in his shoulder and cheek so he imagined a hole straight through the torso must hurt even worse. He knew it actually.

 

“It is manageable.”

 

Will huffed in amusement at the typically vague answer and let his hand slide from near the entry wound slowly up the curve of Hannibal’s back. He reached the brand half way up, it was centered over his spine and placed just below where the scapula would frame it. His fingers traced the scar delicately before pressing over it possessively with his whole hand, as though he could blot it out of existence. It’s very presence made him seethe with anger and hatred. He wanted to shred it, to rip it off, because it was wrong, it was a lie.

 

“Is it terribly grotesque?” Hannibal asked. “I haven’t had much time to examine it for myself.

 

“No. It’s just _wrong_. It makes me angry. You can’t brand what doesn’t belong to you.”

 

Too true. We both know I belong to you Will. No brand can change that.”

 

Will could feel a tightness in his stomach and throat at those words, a warm burn, a stinging deep inside at such a casually delivered, yet grave confession. His hand had pulled away from the brand, and he realized he was holding his breath. Hannibal turned back over to face him then.

 

“Now you must let me fuss over you.” Hannibal insisted before pulling up on the edge of Will’s t-shirt divesting him of it with such abrupt agility that Will didn’t even have the chance to object.

 

Hannibal, true to his word was now closely examining the new wound on his shoulder. Will looked down at it now with him. He rarely looked at his body, especially this shoulder, his right shoulder. Which was already a mess of scars and injuries. The cleanly stitched gash lay just below his clavicle, just above it was the scar from when he’d been stabbed as cop, and further out toward the arm was the scar from where Chiyoh had shot him. It looked a mess. His shoulder had been damaged and torn in nearly every place possible, it seemed miraculous that he could still move his arm. That anything under there still functioned as it was meant to.

 

Apparently satisfied that his shoulder was healing properly Hannibal redirected his attention to Will’s cheek. After he had finished scrutinizing the wound he let his fingers slide back to the uninjured flesh at his jaw, the press of his fingers still surprisingly gentle.

 

“It will scar, but it is healing well, it won’t be too bad.”

 

“I’m used to it by now. I don’t even know what is scars and what is skin anymore.” Will lowered his eyes to his stomach so he didn’t have to look in Hannibal’s eyes.

 

“You are fortunate to have the type of skin that heals well and scars so beautifully.”

 

“Beautifully?” Will looked back up at him, incredulous.

 

“Yes. They don’t raise too much, don’t warp or keloid. They fade silvery into your pale skin. Light it up like the moon. These too will be beautiful when they heal.” His face turned hard for a second. “It also angers me when others dare to mark what isn’t theirs. I would kill him again if I could, but at least these will be a reminder of what we shared that night.”

 

Will reached out to touch his face, palm scratching against the stubble of his jaw, flecked though with glinting sparks of silver.

 

“I don’t need them to remember.” Will replied softly.

 

The privilege to touch had probably been his for longer than he had known, but only now did he feel comfortable taking it, relishing it. He slid his hand lower, down his neck, and across his chest. His skin was warm and smooth, his lean muscles were mesmerizing in their beauty. He had known the man for so long now, but he had never had the chance to see the fierce beautiful creature that lay coiled beneath bespoke suits and cashmere. He had already thought the man beautiful even then, but now looking across the expanse of bronzed skin glowing in the sunlight he could see that he’d truly only noticed a small fraction of it before.

 

Hannibal’s gaze turned hungry as Will’s hand slid lower, fingers sliding across the trail of hair across his stomach. Will could feel his abdominal muscles tense and harden under the exploratory touch. A small wild sound strained out of his throat, it sounded animalistic, tortured. He pushed up onto his knees and straddled Will’s hips, the muscles of his arms taught and tantalizing as he lowered himself over Will covering him in hot skin and breath. Will lifted his chin, pushing up to meet the soft lips in the wet, open, wanting kiss he had been craving since that electric but all too chaste press of lips Hannibal had given him the day before. It felt like a flood in his heart, like drowning. He could breath nothing but Hannibal. His heart raced and pounded. His blood raged under his skin, leaving a tide of flushed wanting heat at the surface where he could feel his skin searing against Hannibal’s answering heat. He moaned deep in his throat and rocked his hips into Hannibal’s. The _need_ overtaking him swiftly. Hannibal pulled back a moment later and began to bite and lick at his neck. Will could hear his own ragged breaths hitch and he held back the whimper that wanted to escape as the delicious shiver took him over. Hannibal licked and mouthed and tasted at each one of his older scars. The stab wound from Louisiana, the bullet hole from Chiyoh, moving to his other shoulder to taste the raised pucker from where Jack had shot him, and finally down to trace a wet slick path across the length of the scar from when Hannibal himself had sliced him open.

 

“You taste so good. I have tasted nothing like it. I could drink in your flavor for eternity and never tire of it.” He spoke into Will’s skin. He could feel his lips forming around the words.

 

Will flushed and thought of the Dante quote that Bedelia had recited back to him when he asked if Hannibal was in love with him. Apparently it was true. Hannibal did ‘daily feel a stab of hunger’ for him. He should find the thought disturbing given Hannibal’s proclivities, but he didn’t. The sentiment, his voice, his strong body above him, caging him in possessively, all combined to make him breathless, panting and needy. He was achingly hard and he could feel that Hannibal was as well, the firm line of his erection pressed against his thigh.

 

He pushed his hands into Hannibal’s hair trying to get a grip, to pull him closer against him, so he could feel him, kiss him. He needed more. But Hannibal grabbed his wrists and pushed them down against the bed before he kissed his way back up to Will’s lips. There he kissed him deeply and thoroughly until Will was pulling back to take a gasp of breath and bucking desperately into Hannibal. All thought had left him, he had been reduced to an aching ball of need. This of all moments was when Hannibal chose to pull back and retreat to his side of the bed. Will let out an involuntary whimper at the sudden loss and reached for Hannibal, intending to try and pull him back to him, but Hannibal caught him by the wrist and bent closer to speak. His voice was rough with arousal, which pleased Will until he absorbed exactly what he had just said.

 

“Chiyoh is only pretending to be asleep.”

 

Hannibal’s smile was positively wicked as he took in Will’s horrified expression. Will blushed, his mouth slack with shocked horror, as he scrambled to pull the covers over himself in retreat. Hannibal gave him a smirk and began to nonchalantly pull his clothes on. In the heat of the moment Will had forgotten they were even there, but clearly Hannibal had not forgotten. The smug exhibitionist bastard had known she was awake and… god… Will desperately tried to remember how loudly that line about his taste had been delivered, and groaned when he came to the inevitable conclusion that it had certainly been audible. He flipped onto his stomach and buried his head under the covers. Determined to remain in hiding for the rest of the day.

 

He could hear Chiyoh stirring and masochist that he was he couldn’t help but peek through a folded gap in the comforter to see what was happening. Chiyoh was sitting up and trying to wake the girl up enough to wrest her tiny fingers from out of her hair. The girl opened her eyes and allowed Chiyoh’s hair to be freed before sitting up. Whether Chiyoh noticed Will watching, or was merely talking to the hole in the comforter he didn’t know, but she turned toward him and smiled a small apologetic smile.

 

“It seemed like the polite thing to do.” She explained, then she got up took the girls hand and led her out of the cabin. Leaving him to his shame and misery.

 

She was practically raised by Hannibal. Of course she’d be concerned with being polite. What was his life now? He was surrounded by very polite crazy people. He buried his head under the pillow and contemplated how he could get to the stash of whiskey without leaving his hiding place in the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I am the worst tease ever. I don't even know what happened. I had the best intentions. It was just going to be a little light fluff and some plot advancement. Somehow instead this happened. I've lost control of the story. 
> 
> I managed to write the longest chapter yet where nothing actually happens but going to sleep and waking up, but I hope it was enjoyable to read anyway. I promise I won't cock block the boys forever.
> 
> This is my first real attempt at a (semi) plot based chapter fic (that I didn't abandon right away) so if you have any comments whether they be criticisms, arguments, praise, questions, suggestions, advice, nitpicks, requests, random nonsense, or even just pointing out a typo I would love to hear it.
> 
> And of course if you enjoy what you read your kudos are always appreciated and received with great enthusiasm and enjoyment. (It's actually a bit pathetic how much so).


	10. Land Out on the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They disagree while trying to give 'the girl' a name and then cute domestic fluff happens.

 

After the fifth time he had referred to her as ‘the girl’ in half an hour it became apparent to Will that actually coming up with a name for her would be a good idea. He turned to Hannibal words tripping off his tongue.

“We have to think of a name for her. We can’t just call her ‘the girl’ forever. Do you have any ideas? Perhaps we could name her after your mother or a family member?” He asked Hannibal. He was pretty sure Hannibal was too much of a control freak to let someone else name her.

 

Hannibal looked up at him. “That is a nice idea, unfortunately my mothers name was Simonetta, and though it suited her very well I don’t think it’s the sort of name to saddle a youngster with in this day and age.”

 

Will could interpret much from what was left unsaid, that Mischa was too precious a name for him to give away, and too painful a reminder to hear every day. He felt the same way about Abigail. She deserved a name that wasn’t drenched in pain and loss.

 

“However since our new last name is to be Sforza perhaps we should choose an Italian name. Something traditional to the family. Bona perhaps? Hannibal added.

 

“No!” Will scoffed. “It’s too weird. It sounds like some dirty slang or something.”

 

“Only to Americans.” Hannibal practically pouted. His voice contorted around the word ‘Americans’ as though that was the dirty word. “You could make filth of anything.”

 

He was definitely sulking. He’d been much more invested in the name Bona than Will could have guessed, and now he felt bad for mocking it. But seriously, he was not going to call her that. He sorted through his memories for any other famous Sforza, some kind of peace offering.

 

What about Catarina?

 

“No. People will try to call her Cat, or worse. Kate.”

 

“What’s wrong with Kate?”

 

“It’s pedestrian, simple.” Will Snorted at that.

 

Hannibal set his mouth in a firm line. “Do I need a reason? I don’t like it.”

 

Will was starting to suspect that he was still upset about him making fun of Bona and would have rejected any other name out of spite. This was starting to feel ridiculous. Who knew they would both feel so passionately about this?

 

“It means pure. Hardly a strong name for one of such obvious strength and character.” Hannibal added.

 

“Okay. Fine. Let’s just back away from famous Sforza’s shall we. It’s pretentious anyway, and she’s not even really a Sforza, lets just try and find something that suits her… personality.” Hannibal’s face… well it didn’t get any grimmer, that was a good sign. Right?

 

“It doesn’t matter anyway it will only be temporary.” He muttered this last part, but he could see from the tense set line of Hannibal’s eyes and the dangerous spark of dark in his eyes that he had heard and he did not agree.

 

“It does matter because it will not be temporary but permanent.” His tone was icy and firm, making it clear that to even think otherwise would be an abhorrent blasphemy that he would not tolerate.

 

Will felt a coiling pain sinking through his gut at this and he wondered at how he could be so stupid, so without fear that he could have led himself to this same trap yet again. Even worse was the knowledge that the person he had dragged into this was actually innocent this time. He didn’t think he could survive it all again.

 

Chiyoh had been watching them fight, and if he didn’t know better he would swear her expression grew more… pleased and smug the more heated their argument got. However her concern at the more dangerous tone the argument had taken was apparent. This only reinforced Will’s gnawing fear. She knew him so well, and even she could tell this was going somewhere dangerous.

 

“Italian names are too… frilly.” She pronounced haughtily “She should have a Japanese name.”

 

It seemed distraction and misdirection were Chiyoh’s tools of choice during conflict. Will himself was more prone to a desire to flee in such situations, but one of the downsides of inhabiting a boat with someone was there was really nowhere to run.

 

She had expertly supplanted the real argument with another milder one, but one that would likely bring Hannibal’s ire just the same. He just widened his eyes at her. A little shocked that she had actually dared to insult _all_ Italian names in front of Hannibal. But when he looked back at Hannibal he wore a bit of a pleased look mixed with mild annoyance, and he looked at Chiyoh expectantly, as if challenging her to think of something perfect. Perhaps he too was relieved that the impending fight had been derailed before it could reach its inevitably crushing destination.

 

Chiyoh went over to the girl. She had been laying on her stomach propped up by the foamy bulk of her life vest as she played in a puddle of seawater that had gathered in a corner of the deck. She pulled her up to her feet, reached out and held her chin in her hand, gazing into her eyes, her face pensive as she contemplated the creature before her.

After a minute she said “She is Masumi. It means true lucidity.”

 

Chiyoh’s voice held not a trace of a suggestion in it. Her tone made it clear she was not offering the name up for consideration, but rather issuing a statement of fact, as though her name was already Masumi. Something they would just have to learn to accept.

 

Will bristled at the bossy tone but he had to admit he did like the name. It had a beautiful stoic quality to it. Serious, but with a happy lift to the sounds, and he could find no fault with the meaning. True lucidity was a rare gift indeed. A treasure he had spent blood sweat and tears to acquire without ever being sure if it was really in his grasp. It would be a great blessing for her if she lived up to the name. He looked over to Hannibal to gauge his reaction. Hannibal looked quite pleased, all traces of anger had faded, and he smiled down at the girl.

 

“Masumi. So it is.” He replied.

 

* * *

 

Hannibal had cleared out a patch of floor for drawing and shockingly, he lay there on the floor, pushed onto his stomach to leave an arm free. Masumi sat right next to him. He sketched out streets of Paris, and recreations of Renaissance art with his usual careful precision, and Masumi would watch him carefully for a while and then she would suddenly grab a crayon and scrawl a random arching line across the composition, in bright green or orange. By the time he would finish a sketch it would look like it was speckled with wounds through witch color and emotion could bleed through. It gave the illusion that the sketched held greater emotional depth then Hannibal was truly capable of. When he finished a sketch he would hand it to Masumi who would clutch it to her chest and start scribble across it with great focus.

 

Will smiled down at the charming picture of domesticity they made. He supposed he would need to take up new hobbies if he was to share his time with her like this. He may have learned to fix boat motors by his father’s side as a child, but he knew it wasn’t safe, and neither was tying flies. Hannibal pushed an errant curl out of her face with a fond and proud expression as she concentrated on a particularly tight and intense scribble of blue. Will stomach tightened and dropped in a wrenching pain as he placed the source of this sensation of familiarity and dread.

 

He had once seen Hannibal give that same expression to Abigail, and the jarring appearance of the memory brought down a realization that he shouldn’t have needed a reminder for. It didn’t matter what he would do with her in the future because she could not stay with them. He had tried to rationalize away the truth because it was too painful; he told himself that Hannibal would only be a danger if he angered him, which he would not do, not when he knew what was at stake. But no matter how much he learned about Hannibal he could not predict him entirely, he could never be sure.

 

Hannibal had a way of making you believe the entire world was upside down. But the reality was he could not guaranty her safety, and if he couldn’t do that he had no more business with her than her Mother and Father had. He needed to think of a way to get her away and to a safe home before Hannibal would grow attached enough, proprietary enough that he wouldn’t find her loss worthy of enacting a sick and petulant vengeance. He could only hope it wasn’t too late already.

 

The problem he found himself facing was that he had already abandoned the world of support and help, and people that he could trust. All that remained to him was Hannibal. He remembered feeling a thrill of delight at this before, but now that he had something to care about again he found it painfully isolating. He could feel the fear and helplessness waiting to engulf him as he realized he had no one left that could help, no one to turn to. He wondered if this was how her mother had felt, if she had laid awake at night pondering her options and realizing she had none.

 

Hannibal looked up from his place on the floor. Will wondered if he had given some outward sign of his internal distress or if Hannibal was still just that attuned to him, even after all this time. His eyes seemed to press right into Will, intrusive yet unexpectedly welcome, like always. He strained to control his breathing, to remain as calm and happy looking as he had been five minutes ago. But he could tell from the expression on Hannibal’s face that it wasn’t working.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hannibal asked with a cautious expression.

 

Will contemplated trying to brush off the question with a lie or misdirection but he knew he was in no state to pull it off. He was a truly terrible liar, and anyway what would be the point? He had already bared himself and plunged into the abyss to be with Hannibal, to share everything with him, to lie eternally behind the shield of him. Secrets and lies were for people who had something left of themselves to protect. Will had already given it all over. He settled for a terse and imprecise window into the truth of his thoughts only because he couldn’t manage any more without all his fragile cracks splintering and leaking out his desperation and pain. Hannibal hated messes.

 

“Abigail” Was his only reply.

 

It was unlikely elaboration was necessary anyway. He could see in Hannibal’s eyes that everything unsaid was understood. He didn’t look regretful, he looked intent, like Will’s pain was some fine wine he could breathe in and drink down. Something he wanted to absorb into his very cells. He picked Masumi up and brought her over to sit next to Will where he was perched on the edge of the bed.

 

She was still clutching a piece of paper and a purple crayon. As she settled into Hannibal’s lap she pushed the paper toward him, her face joyous as she presented her gift. It was a sketch of him, face fond and happy as he looked down. Hannibal had somehow managed to sketch him as he watched them without him noticing. Masumi had colored over it with a chaos of whirring purple lines. While the sketch itself portrayed the warmth of feeling his face had worn while watching them, the frenzied spirals of purple seemed to capture the chaos and pain of his mind as he had started to wonder what this could mean for the future, to wonder how long this peace could last. He smiled as he took it from her.

 

“Thank you! It’s beautiful!”

 

She beamed and squirmed out of Hannibal’s lap standing on the bed and patting at his scruffy cheek. Hannibal quirked a devious smile in her direction and began to tickle her. She started a high pitched squeal of a giggle the moment his finger began to wiggle under her arms, and she dropped bonelessly down to the mattress and curled into a little ball. Shrill giggles continually piercing the air as she contorted with each new tickle. She twisted away seeking refuge in Will’s lap and he couldn’t help but laugh to see her happy red face as she gasped out her breaths in between laughter. As her breathing grew more strained she pushed herself up to throw her arms around his neck.

 

“I’ll save you from the tickle monster!” He declared in his best valiant voice and he grabbed her arms holding her tight to his neck as he swung her around in a dizzying twirl that ended with them out of Hannibal’s reach.

 

He new tickling could go quickly from very fun to upsettingly hard to breath if it went on too long. He flopped them both down to the mattress to recover their breath while still unable to keep from laughing completely. Hannibal didn’t flop but rather lowered himself gracefully down beside them. He turned his head to the side and Will could feel his breath against the crook of his neck, he could feel Hannibal’s fingers close around his wrist. A warm comforting grasp that made him feel anchored and safe. It felt so incredibly right. The peace and warmth he felt from within at this slight contact was so very _real._ He wondered at how quickly he could go from feeling so miserable and alone that he wanted to plunge himself into the sea and let it all finally end, to feeling a level of joy and peace he had seldom if ever experienced before. His life with Hannibal so far had been a rollercoaster and it was probably just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel like this was finished honestly but when I realized how long it's been since I posted and how little free time I'm about to have I realized I had better get something out there.
> 
> If you feel so inclined you could follow me on Tumblr: http://eridanie.tumblr.com/  
> I'll follow back! :D


	11. Can't Wind Down, The Ending Outlasting The Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come ashore in Cancun and start to settle into continuing their murder honeymoon on land.

 

Hannibal Lecter was a patient man, He had waited three years for Will to come back to him and his patience had been rewarded. He saw no need to stop being patient now that he had everything he could want and more. But it was starting to wear on him this brooding silent treatment that Will was giving him. It wasn’t really a silent treatment of course, but on a tiny boat with nowhere to go, it became ridiculously obvious when someone was doing their best to ignore you.

 

“Things can’t keep going like this. You need to talk to me about what is bothering you.”

 

Will’s expression immediately looked hunted, like he would bolt if they weren’t trapped on a tiny boat.

 

Hannibal pressed his lips together, suppressing his irritation at Will regressing to those timid coping mechanisms and impulses that he should be long past. He waited for Will to gather his courage. Watched as he seemed to gather some force of will from the air around him. He admired how Will could acquire competence in everything but comfort in nothing. He was continually at the edge of acceptance and rebellion. Will relaxed into a straighter stance, posture lifting, visibly trying to gather his control.

 

“I’ve just been thinking too much... I'm worried that you will use Masumi to hurt me the way you did with Abigail. I'm afraid you'll hurt her to punish me.

 

“I can assure you I have never hurt a child and I never will.”

 

“Okay. I know. But she’ll be Abigail’s age one day Hannibal.

 

Hannibal frowned and tried to press his irritation at bay. It was entirely his own fault that will assumed he could be capable of something so callous. He took a deep breath trying to carefully construct his words. Make his intentions clear once and for all.

 

“I have already agreed to your terms. So unless you plan on asking me to kill her she will be safe.”

 

“You really plan on sticking to that?” Will looked extremely dubious, and Hannibal tried to remember he had given him every reason for doubting him. Will’s face was tight with concentration, mouth hovering near uncertainty in its twist. Hannibal continued assuring him further.

 

“While I do have my doubts about your intentions to kill us that night, I have no question that you will make good on your promise to take yourself away from me if I break with my agreement.”

 

“If it was her… or any other pseudo child replacement.” He added glancing in the direction of Chiyoh. “I would only _end_ it with myself. You understand?”

 

He felt his pulse pick up in arousal as he pictured Will killing him, how magnificent and end it would be. He pushed the thrum of arousal back before it became too transparent. There was plenty of time for that.

 

“Of course. I understand.” He nodded unable to disguise the pleased smile that still lingered on his lips.

* * *

 

Will thought he must truly be insane to place so much value and comfort on the word of someone like Hannibal, especially when that same word had been given in the assurance of a friends death. But he had clearly left reason behind on that cliff. His life was what it was now, and he found he did believe Hannibal. He let himself daydream and consider what it would be to actually have a family with Hannibal, to pursue a life for himself, one without compromise.

 

He discovered that Chiyoh was quite a skilled sailor and Hannibal actually did know a little about it as well. So he spent the rest of the day playing with Masumi, reading to her and holding her up to see the ocean. He was able to enjoy himself much more with her now that he had stopped convincing himself that he would need to give her up soon. He realized he had been avoiding her in anticipation of the pain of their impending separation, leaving her to Hannibal and Chiyoh and withdrawing in on himself. She seemed quite pleased that he had stopped avoiding her, eagerly pointing in bids for joint attention as she saw anything that interested her.

 

She loved it when he read to her, although he wasn’t sure if she could understand his English, she loved to look at the pictures and whenever she pointed to something he would talk about what she pointed at, making up little additional stories about the scene and asking her questions about it. He didn’t know if she would answer but he knew she liked being talked to. Chiyoh had been speaking Japanese to her and Hannibal had been speaking Spanish and Lithuanian to her as well as English, so it was clear when she did start speaking that she would be a multilingual child.

 

He passed the next few days in peace with his new family, taking turns navigating and eating Hannibal’s best attempts to make gourmet cuisine out of the canned and dried goods they had, and the tiny little gas camping stove. It was delicious of course but he could tell from Hannibal’s face that he didn’t agree.

 

When they got sick of talking, or the sound of the ocean, Hannibal would plug his laptop into the speakers and play some grandiose classical composition from it and they would lay out in the sun. Of course he slathered Masumi in SPF 50 every 3 hours regardless of her naturally olive complexion, and Chiyoh seemed to prefer to lay under her umbrella, but Hannibal was starting to regain the coppery tinge of his formerly tanned skin that had paled during his years of incarceration. Will was getting tan as well, in fact the last time he had been this tan was probably when he lived in Louisiana and had worked outside all day.

 

Although he had frequently been falling asleep in the sun with Masumi on his chest. Usually Hannibal would wake him and tell him to move before he got too burned, or would put the umbrella over him, but the last time Hannibal had fallen asleep right beside them, so when will finally woke his skin had turned pink and burned and left the blurry imprint of a sleeping child on his chest.

 

When Hannibal woke up and saw him, he hadn’t hid his smirk at how Will looked, but that night before they went to sleep he had insisted on methodically and worshipfully applying aloe vera gel to every inch of burnt skin. Even the parts Will could reach himself easily. Part of Will wanted to object, but the strength and long curve of his fingers felt so good against him he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word that might make him stop. He was starting to wish they weren’t crowded on a tiny boat with Chiyoh and Masumi though.

 

* * *

 

They had sailed steadily southwest bypassing Cuba, so by the time they encountered land they were docking in Cancun. Hannibal was on the phone immediately booking them a no doubt excessively nice hotel room while he and Chiyoh packed up their belongings. Hannibal had been lounging on deck in shorts and little else for the past few days and Will had thought it would be a small relief from the constant sexual tension for him to finally put some clothes on, but Hannibal had donned a light grey off the rack designer suit and slicked back his shorter hair, and it did not help at all. Will had forgotten how good Hannibal looked in a suit. Which was incredibly good. Apparently even when he wore days of stubble and his suit wasn’t tailored to his exact measurements the man could still look like some kind of fashion model demigod.

 

He rifled through the clothes Chiyoh had bought him until he found something suitably nice, a bluish gray suit and crisp white shirt. Chiyoh herself was wearing a black dress and black heels. He hadn’t ever seen her out of her practical looking black ops type gear but she looked great and very polished. She probably looked more suited to be by Hannibal’s side than he did.

 

He fussed with packing Masumi’s things and then wrangled her into her stroller after he had gotten her safely on the dock. Chiyoh and Hannibal had gone to pay for their spot at the dock. When Hannibal returned he stepped back onto the boat and unloaded their luggage.

 

“The hotel’s car should be here to pick us up in the parking lot momentarily.” He said pointing down the trail to a spot where a few cars were parked.

 

Will loaded his duffle bag over his shoulder settling the strap across his chest and began pushing Masumi’s stroller down the path, leaving Hannibal to handle the rest of their luggage. Soon enough a black BMW pulled into the spot near them. He loaded Masumi into the car seat they had prepared for her and squeezed into the back next to her. Hannibal followed sitting next to him, and left the front seat to Chiyoh. When they arrived at the hotel it was, as he expected, the nicest hotel he had ever set foot in. Judging by their location near the beach it was probably more of a resort really, but either way it was an intimidating lobby that they stepped into.

 

He hung back with Chiyoh and Masumi as Hannibal confidently strode up to the desk and checked them in bringing three keycards back with him. A young man came up to them and loaded their luggage onto a cart and followed behind them as they made they’re way up to their room. Which turned out to not be a room at all but rooms. It was a suite with two bedrooms on opposite sides of a shared living space and kitchen.

 

Chiyoh moved immediately toward the room on the right, and Hannibal tipped the man who had brought their luggage up and carried his and Will’s luggage into the room on the left and began unpacking immediately. Everything seemingly already had a precise place without any deliberation. He applied himself to the perfect execution of their living arrangements as though they were moving in. Normally he would object to Hannibal’s entitled handling of his possessions, but in truth (besides the boat) he didn’t actually have any possessions anymore. Just things that Chiyoh had bought for him that were obviously designed to please Hannibal. But it was much more tolerable to endure the usurping of his physical world then his internal one.

 

“You know you don’t need to do that. I usually just live out of my suitcase.”

He’d said that just for the droll and impatient facial expression Hannibal would make at that confession, and he did not disappoint.

 

“I don’t see the logic in allowing your clothes to become wrinkled and lined when we have a perfectly serviceable closet right here.”

 

“Will smiled asymmetric and wry. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the illusion of being your young trophy husband.”

 

Hannibal smiled devilishly at him. “You only look like arm candy. Your actual flavor is far more subtle and varied.

 

Will could feel a flush of heat at Hannibal mentioning his taste. But seriously did he never tire of cannibalism puns? You’d think once everyone was in on the joke they would lose their appeal. But no. Will’s only answer was a disapproving eye roll.

  

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper meal, why don’t we go get some food.”

 

“Excellent idea. I will find out what the best spots are.

 

“I’m sure Masumi must be hungry. Can’t we just eat in the hotel restaurant?

 

“Normally I would concede your case but I haven’t had a proper meal in over 3 years so I’d like to do it right. I will go speak to the concierge.”

 

Will sighed as Hannibal disappeared behind the door to their suite. It was hard to argue his reasoning there, but he sincerely doubted that he or the concierge were going to choose a place with any food that would be appropriate to feed Masumi, so he dug through her bag and brought out a left over squeeze tube of applesauce and some animal crackers. At least if she refused to eat the food she wouldn’t go hungry.

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal must have chosen a place with Will’s comfort and Masumi’s needs in mind because where they actually ended up eating was a low key Caribbean fusion restaurant with of course absolutely delicious food. Masumi ate beans and rice while Will ate shrimp tacos. Hannibal and Chiyoh ate some strange kind of organ meat (of course). Something he had never been particularly interested in and now was even less so.

 

The wine he had chosen was amazingly good and the waiters were the type to constantly refill your glass before it was even empty. So when he rose from the table at the end of dinner he was a lot more tipsy then he had meant to be. Hannibal took his arm with a teasing smile as he wobbled slightly upon standing and used the excuse to tuck his arm around Will’s shoulder and let his fingers trace across his neck. Will shivered at the intimate gesture and pushed back away from the table with a decisive balance that he hoped conveyed the point that he was not drunk enough to let himself be groped in public. He did however let Hannibal take Masumi out of her high chair and grab her hand to lead her out of the restaurant. He followed behind with Chiyoh who looked far too amused for Will’s taste.

 

 


End file.
